


Sand

by Pimento



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Beaches, Canon Compliant, Clueless Castiel, Cute Castiel, Fluff, Funny, Grumpy Dean Winchester, Happy Castiel, Happy Sam, Trenchcoat - Freeform, flipflops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-08-07 05:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7701745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pimento/pseuds/Pimento
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean find themselves stranded on a desert island, with no clue how they got there...</p><p>It's a light, silly bit of fluff written in answer to a prompt:  Flip Flops.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sand

It was too damned hot. And bright.

Dean squinted into the brilliance of the sunlight, and gazed about him. Registering with some relief that Sam was beside him, looking equally bewildered.

“Er… any idea where we are?” Sam asked softly.

“How in the hell should I know?” Dean snapped. “Last thing I remember was sitting in Baby outside the motel. You?”

Sam pursed his lips momentarily, before replying. “Same.”

They stared about them. The brilliant sunlight glinted off turquoise waters, fading to the deepest blue before merging with the sky in the far distance in a slight curve. The sort that can only be perceived when the view is so panoramic that the horizon begins to hint at living on a spheroid hurtling through space.  Soft curls of surf kissed the sand which stretched from where they stood on the edge of spiky dune grass. Behind them it reared up in soft mounds.

Dean patted himself down, feeling the reassuring weight of his blade, he realised with a sigh, that it was his only weapon. “Switch blade, and holy water,” Sam reported automatically, completing the inventory. “And my phone’s gone.”

Nodding to confirm the same, Dean began climbing the dune behind them. Sam watched him from the beach, keeping lookout, but the sand was unblemished other than their own footprints. The climb was short if frustrating, every three steps up resulted in a slip down, and the view from the top was not encouraging. They were stood on a circlet of sand and scrub surrounding a lagoon, and ocean stretched in all directions.

“We’re on an island,” he called. He looked down to see his brother merely shrugged and begin delayering. “What the hell are you doing?” Dean demanded.

“Erm, Dude, it must be like 120 degrees. What do you think I’m doing?”

Eyes crunched tight, Dean pinched the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb. At the very least he was getting a headache. He dragged the back of his hand through the beaded sweat on his forehead in a gesture of impatience, before climbing down the slope, slipping and pitching as the sands shifted beneath his feet. Grudgingly he removed his jacket and dropped it to the sand, lifting one foot horizontal to the ground and glaring down at the sand pouring from the top of his boot. “Great, just fricking great. I hate sand.”

Sam, who had already yanked off his boots and thick socks and was curling his toes in the soft white sand, smiled up at him from under his bangs, grinning affectionately. “Man, are you grumpy. When I said we needed a vacation this wasn’t quite what I had in mind,” he mused, “but you gotta admit this is kinda beautiful.”

Something began to stir in Dean’s mind. An uncomfortable suspicion. Surely he wouldn’t. He snapped his head in Sam’s direction, and their eyes met. “Cas!” they exclaimed together.

Sam’s face twisted into a wide grin, and he began to laugh, pointing along the beach. The glowering look on Dean’s face, only adding to his amusement. He bent double bracing one hand on his knee, ribs shaking with mirth.

“It’s not funny,” Dean snarled at him through gritted teeth as he watched the familiar figure approaching in the distance. Cas waved and beckoned them, his trench coat gaping open to reveal his bare chest and a pair of impossibly garish shorts, his wide childlike grin of delight visible even at several hundred yards.  Dean gripped his jacket in one scrunched fist. Sam pulled himself together and scooped up his clothes, still chuckling, he lagged slightly behind, as Dean began stomping along the beach towards the dark haired figure. “What the hell, Cas?”

“Do you like it?” Cas asked, his usually flat demeanour replaced with innocent, glittering excitement, proudly adding, “I brought supplies.” As he lead them around a twist in the dunes. Gaudy bright beach towels lay on loungers, under striped parasols. A cool box sweated in the artificial shade and bottles peeked out of the mounds of ice glistening invitingly.

“Is that a barbecue?” Sam asked, wonderingly, smelling the scent of hot coals.

Cas nodded, his gaze flicking nervously back to Dean, who was now stood hand on hip, jacket trailing from his other hand.  Sam smiled as he saw Dean’s shoulders lift, as the breath entered his lungs. He knew his brother was exasperated. Knew that he would dearly love to rip Cas a new one. Knew that he was utterly and totally pissed. And he also knew that just as he did with Sam, he would let out a long sigh, and accept what was coming, because he didn’t want to destroy the other’s moment of pleasure. Sam knew it, because he was the only other being in the known universe, apart maybe from Charlie, that Dean would ever let get away with shit like this.

The sigh, when it came, was long, and his stride checked softening from an aggressive stomp into a stroll. Sam could sense the eye roll that went with the subtle shake of his head. “Lose the trench coat, man, it doesn’t go with the flip-flops.”

 

Dean leant back against the bright green towel, which was impossibly fluffy, and sighed contentedly. He took a slug of cool beer, and gave a gentle burp, his stomach pleasantly full of cheesesteak.

He tilted his head to look past his own toes wriggling comfortably against the flip-flops Cas had finally convinced him to wear to watch Sam dusting sand from his hands on bright bermudas, as he tried to teach Cas how to throw a Frisbee. Laughing softly to himself as for the umpteenth time, Cas optimistically released it, only for it to twist to the vertical, hit the ground with a thunk before spinning in a tight spiral.

Shoulders slumping in dismay, Cas glared at the offending bright plastic toy. “I still don’t see the purpose of spinning this disk, a ball is a much more efficient implement for playing catch…” the gravelly voice was petulant with frustration.

Sam laughed and glanced his way, face alive with joy and ease, and Dean felt his spirits lift a little. Maybe they _had_ needed this, and he found himself staring fondly at Cas with a surge of gratitude. His breath hitched and he felt his heart give a lurch, thanking his lucky stars for all the good reasons that this weird, dorky, angelic, well meaning, clueless, utterly infuriating little fucker was a part of their lives.

**Author's Note:**

>  
> 
>  
> 
> Cas' idea of the perfect beach vacation...


End file.
